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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251009">like constellations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalparadises/pseuds/fictionalparadises'>fictionalparadises</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Intimacy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:54:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalparadises/pseuds/fictionalparadises</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It almost feels like they’re different people during the late hours of the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MCYT</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like constellations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>first dnf fic, hope i didn't completely butcher it lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s three in the morning, and the apartment is quiet.</p><p>George is sitting at the kitchen table, one leg pulled up to his chest, his shin resting against the counter. He’s precariously balanced on the stool, glancing down at his notes, absent-mindedly listening to the humming of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock. His phone lays flat on top of them, a random Instagram video playing on loop, muted.</p><p>He should be asleep—should’ve gone to bed hours ago, if he’s honest, but he’s not tired. Stacks and stacks of unfinished assignments make him nervous and prevent him from getting any peaceful sleep, and he’s better off not lying in bed until he’s sick with impatience.</p><p>A door behind opens and closes with a soft click, and George doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know who it is.</p><p>“Why are you still up?” Dream asks, voice groggy, as he walks past George into the kitchen. The fridge opens with a soft creak.</p><p>George rests his chin on his palm, eyes trailing Dream’s silhouette. The fridge light washes him in hues of white, the reflections of his green hoodie bouncing off the tiled kitchen walls. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.</p><p>“Well, you still should,” Dream insists, half-turning to face him, milk carton in his hands. The glow stands off against his face, pale light outlining the contour of his nose and the curve of his lips. “Don’t you have an 8am tomorrow? Or... technically today.”</p><p>“I’m not going,” he shrugs, tearing his gaze away from Dream’s face, knowing it will only lead his mind to places it shouldn’t wander.</p><p>Dream kicks the fridge shut with his heel before hopping on the stool next to George, twisting the cap off and flicking it onto the counter.</p><p>“That’s disgusting,” George says, scrunching up his nose when Dream puts the carton straight to his mouth and tips his head back.</p><p>He shrugs, the hint of a grin on his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You haven’t gotten any STDs yet from Sapnap or Karl, you’re not gonna get them from me.”</p><p>“I—that’s not something I want to be thinking about, actually,” George mutters.</p><p>Pros of student housing; your own apartment with an actual bathroom and kitchen. Living with your best friends. Having your own bedroom.</p><p>Cons of student housing; involuntarily exploring your sexuality. Having feelings you shouldn’t have. Lying awake at night because you can’t stop thinking about it.</p><p>It all cancels each other out, really.</p><p>“What’re you working on?” Dream asks, leaning over to glance at George’s notes. His phone has automatically turned off and he can see Dream’s reflection on the black screen.</p><p>He stares at it for a second before pushing his phone away and grabbing the pencil that has rolled to the edge of the table. “Just going over some notes on software engineering. I need to turn in a project tomorrow and I wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”</p><p>“Sounds like an exciting way to spend the night,” Dream remarks, yawning and ducking away to dodge the smack George is about to deliver on the back of his head. He laughs, the sound rumbling through the room.</p><p>George wants to bottle up the sound and lock it inside his heart.</p><p>That thought alone almost knocks the breath out of his lungs with how much it hurts, so he quickly averts his gaze and underlines a random sentence from his notes. “And why are you still awake, then?” He asks, trying to move his mind in any direction but the way that it was headed.</p><p>Dream plants an elbow on the counter and stares at George, gaze sweeping over his face down to the hoodie he’s wearing. “Just decided that it’s sad you’re sitting here alone, so why not.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re pitying me?” George asks, raising his brows but still fixedly looking at his notes.</p><p>“Hm,” Dream shrugs. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”</p><p>George finally looks up, deadpanning at him. “Dream, it’s three in the morning.”</p><p>He tilts his head, a triumphant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Exactly.” He jumps to his feet, fingers closing around George’s wrist to tug him from the stool. “It’s about time you went to bed.”</p><p>“Wait, no—” George starts, grabbing for his notes, or his phone, or just the counter to hold onto, but Dream has at least six inches on him and it’s a hopeless case as he’s dragged from the kitchen to his bedroom.</p><p>“Enough of that,” Dream says, grin evident in his voice. He grabs George by both his shoulders, holding him perfectly still in the doorpost. “Go to sleep, George.”</p><p>He raises a brow. “Or what?”</p><p>Dream’s expression goes blank for a second, almost bordering on surprised, before he lets out a quiet laugh. “Or I will chain you to the bed myself.”</p><p>“Maybe I’d like that, actually.” Maybe he should just shut up next time.</p><p>
  <em>“George!”</em>
</p><p>His cheeks burn a little and he laughs it off, tugging himself free from Dream’s grip and stepping back into his room. “Alright, alright. Can I at least have my phone?”</p><p>Dream stares at him for a second, then he leans in a little. “Go. To. Sleep.”</p><p>George raises his hands in defense, heart beating frantically in his chest. “Okay, I will, fine!”</p><p>When he’s lying in bed a little later, he can hear Dream shuffling through the kitchen, humming to himself as he opens and closes the fridge. George still can’t sleep, but this time it’s for another reason entirely.</p><p>⁂</p><p>“George, I’ve come to the conclusion that your sleep schedule is truly, entirely <em>fucked</em>.” Dream plops down next to him, the soft lining of the couch dipping underneath his thighs.</p><p>“What took you so long?” George hums, barely looking up from his laptop. His fingers fly over the keyboard, steadfast, unfaltering, even when the urge to look up to Dream's face is infinitely big.</p><p>“Good question,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the screen. He takes a beat to glance over the words. “Data structures?”</p><p>“Yeah,” George answers, fingers pausing above the keys as his eyes skim the code he just banged out. Then he groans. “I can’t seem to fix this one line, it’s just—<em>agh!”</em></p><p>Dream lets out a chuckle. He’s quiet for a long moment, watching George as he reads and rereads the code, or at least pretends to, because it’s impossible to actually focus when Dream is sitting so close to him that he can feel the heat radiating from his body.</p><p>His gaze burns holes right through that iron armor he’s spent so long reinforcing.</p><p>And it’s unfair, really, how Dream doesn’t know the effect he has on George. How a single look can make his persistence crumble to dust slipping through his fingers. How the brush of his touch can make his determination wilt like flowers on a hot summer day.  </p><p>“C’mon, I have an idea,” Dream speaks up after minutes of silence. His tone is one George recognizes instantly, and it means nothing good.</p><p>George cuts him a single look.</p><p>Dream throws his head back and <em>whines</em>, the fucker. “I want to show you something. Come on George, the coding can wait until tomorrow.”</p><p>“You’re aware it’s the middle of the night?”</p><p>“Nearly morning, actually,” Dream scoffs, then continues, “and that’s exactly the point! Let’s go.” He nearly tramples George’s fingers between his laptop when he tries to slam it shut, and George manages to pull away just in time, mouth opening to exclaim in offense, but Dream just grabs his hand and yanks him from the couch.</p><p>“I can’t stand you,” George grumbles, but he lets Dream pull him towards the door, down the stairs and to his car. “Okay, what the hell is your plan? Are you kidnapping me?”</p><p>“Maybe,” he replies casually, pushing George into the passenger seat before skipping over to the other side and taking his place behind the wheel.</p><p>Dream whistles along to the songs on the radio as he pulls onto the highway and George can’t help but sneaking glances at him while he drives, flashes of yellow lighting up his face. Shadows dance across his hands with every lamppost they pass.</p><p>George knows he’s completely and utterly <em>screwed.</em></p><p>“Are you going to drag me into an alley and murder me?” George asks after a good twenty minutes, exasperated. “Then at least let me call my mum so I can tell her I lived a somewhat good life.”</p><p>“Somewhat good?” Dream raises his brows. “What’s missing, then?”</p><p>His heart stumbles and skips a beat, cheeks flushing. “Uh—” He wishes he could come up with some clever joke to dissolve the tightness in his chest he suddenly feels, but Dream has a way of rendering him speechless. He couldn’t laugh it off even if he wanted to. “Well… you know—” he trails off.</p><p>Dream clamps his lips together to withhold a smile. “Don’t go all shy on me now, George. You have <em>me,”</em> he exclaims dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “What more could you want in life?”</p><p><em>Yes,</em> George wants to say, <em>but I don’t  </em>have<em> you. Not in the way that I want to.</em></p><p>“I want someone who’ll let me pull all-nighters in peace,” George says instead.</p><p>Dream exhales a laugh, gaze flickering back and forth between George and the road in front of them. “Now where’s the fun in that?”</p><p>It takes only a few more minutes before they arrive at a deserted parking lot. George frowns as he gets out of the car, hesitantly following after Dream. “Where—the beach?”</p><p>“Glad to know you don’t need glasses.”</p><p>George rolls his eyes, nudging him with an elbow in his side. “Shut up.” He stops in front of the warning sign, trying to plant his heels in the sand when Dream’s fingers curl around his upper arm and drag him along. “I hope you don’t expect me to go swim—”</p><p>“It’s five in the morning and the middle of April, idiot,” Dream huffs, “I don’t want you to get, like, hypothermia or something.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s how it works—” George cuts in, rolling his eyes when Dream slaps his hand over George’s mouth. Not being bothered, he sticks out his tongue.</p><p>Dream pulls his hand back with a squeak, looking at his palm with wide eyes and knotted brows. “That’s <em>gross</em>—”</p><p>“I don’t care,” George says, barely able to keep in a laugh at his expression. He folds his arms over his chest.</p><p>“Just sit down, will you?” Dream mutters, wiping his hand on his jeans before letting himself fall back on the sand. "You're ruining the moment." </p><p>The sand is a little cold as George sits down on it, and he shuffles to the right, trying to create some space between them. <em>Why did you bring me here?</em> he wants to ask, <em>why are you doing this to me?</em></p><p>But the words hang unspoken in the salty air before him.</p><p>Dream tugs on his arm and pulls him onto his back. “Look,” he murmurs, pointing up to the sky.</p><p>The sky has started to unravel at the edges, different hues of blue blending into one another. Bright specks are scattered among the void, standing off against the darkness. The sun hasn’t appeared yet, but George watches the horizon—another twenty minutes, maybe, and then he’ll be able to see the sunrise.</p><p>“I think blue might be my favorite color,” George says softly, tipping his head back against the sand.</p><p>“Why? Because it’s one of the few colors you can actually see?” Dream snorts.</p><p>George rolls his eyes and gives him a shove as he gets up to his elbows. “You are such an asshole.”</p><p>“Kidding, kidding! It was only a joke,” Dream gets out weakly, but the fact that he’s still laughing making it very hard to believe him. He draws George’s hand out from under him and he collapses half on top of Dream, the air leaving his lungs with a soft <em>woosh</em> when his back meets the ground.</p><p>“I can’t stand you,” George splutters. Nothing he’s said has ever been further from the truth than that.</p><p>“Thanks babe,” Dream chuckles. “I love you too.”</p><p>“Idiot.” But George’s heart is in his throat, pounding so hard that it’s a miracle Dream hasn’t picked up on it yet.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dream says, turning his head to look at George, now only inches away. He knocks their feet together. “Please do tell me why blue might be your favorite color.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” George shrugs, eyes jumping from star to star. “’S just pretty.”</p><p>Dream is still looking at him. “Oh, come on now,” he says. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”</p><p>There is, but George isn’t sure if he wants to tell him. Blue is the color of calm but also sadness, and in this exact moment, George somehow feels both of those.</p><p>And it hurts. It hurts to want something so bad that it physically hurts to think about it. It hurts to feel something so intensely that it wraps around his lungs and makes it hard to breathe. It hurts that it’s so close within his grasp but still out of reach.</p><p>“I just think it’s unfair that your favorite color is green,” George huffs out at last, glad to change the subject. “Since, you know, I can’t actually see it.”</p><p>Dream lets out a sympathetic noise. “Aw, don’t be sad. I promise I’ll wear blue more often, then.”</p><p>The sincerity in his words isn’t exactly helping George’s case.</p><p>They stay at the beach until the sun has completely risen, reflecting bright flashes of light on the water and nearly blinding them. George misses another 8am lecture but he doesn’t care as they trudge back to the car, shoving each other playfully. George nearly trips and Dream laughs so hard he wheezes, needing a moment to catch his breath, bending over to lean his hands on his knees. </p><p>There’s sand everywhere and George is pretty sure it’s in his hair and shoes, but he’s smiling and he feels better than he has in days. Dream is still his best friend, despite everything. He tends to forget that some days. </p><p>“Are you cold?” Dream asks once they’re in the car and George shrugs, pretending he hasn't been violently shivering for the past five minutes.</p><p>“No, it’s fine—”</p><p>Dream pulls his hoodie over his head in one smooth movement and hands it to George without hesitation, turning back to start the car.</p><p>George’s mouth goes dry and he stares at the fabric in his hands for a moment before he carefully pulls it on. It’s still warm and it smells like him, and George’s heart is beating tattoos inside his ribcage.</p><p>“Is that better?” Dream asks as he puts the car in reverse, flashing George a smile.</p><p>He’s practically swimming in it, the sleeves reaching to over his hands, and he flips his palms. “Yeah,” he croaks out.</p><p>Better, worse, it’s all the same. He takes one step forward and is dragged two steps back.</p><p>He should be used to it by now.</p><p>⁂</p><p>Karl doesn’t stop complaining about the sand that’s scattered on the apartment floor all day.</p><p>⁂</p><p><em>I can’t do this anymore,</em> George thinks to himself, panic steadily rising in his throat until he’s nauseous with it.</p><p>“I can do this,” Dream says, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck as he pulls George’s laptop towards him. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, thighs pressed together underneath the surface, and George breaks out in a cold sweat under his shirt.</p><p><em>I want to move out,</em> and at the same time he thinks, <em>I want to kiss him.</em></p><p>Dream has his hoodie pulled up over his head, stray strands of sand-colored hair peeking out from underneath the blue fabric. His green eyes skim the lines on George’s laptop, fingers scrolling down on the mousepad.</p><p>George’s eyes flick from his hands to his face, back and forth. His own mind betrays him when the last thought echoes inside his head, again and again; <em>I want to kiss him. </em></p><p>It’s almost overwhelming, the wave of want that crashes over him.</p><p>Feigning exhaustion, he folds his arms on the cold counter and buries his head in the crook of his elbow, listening to the sound of Dream typing away on his laptop, humming to himself every now and then.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Dream asks, quickly glancing to George before he looks back at the laptop.</p><p>“Just tired,” he replies, only partially a lie. It is one a.m. after all.</p><p>Every inch of his skin is on fire when Dream mindlessly laces his fingers through George’s hair and brushes through it comfortingly. He keeps his head down, afraid that he’ll betray his reddened cheeks otherwise.</p><p>After a total of ten minutes, Dreams seems to have solved the problem with the coding. He shuffles closer to George before folding his arms over his and resting his cheek on top of his head.</p><p>George snorts. “Are you comfortable up there?”</p><p>“I am, actually. Thanks for asking.”</p><p>“You buffoon,” George gets out. When his voice wavers, it has nothing to do with the fact that he can’t breathe properly. “You’re going to <em>kill</em> me.”</p><p>Dream wheezes at that and sits back up straight, his hair swaying with how hard he’s laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”</p><p>But Dream will never now how much truth those words hold.</p><p>
  <em>You’re going to kill me. Won’t you just end it already? </em>
</p><p>⁂</p><p>He falls asleep on the couch one evening while watching a movie with his roommates, and wakes up pressed against Dream’s chest, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs entangled.</p><p>George lets himself revel in the feeling for a moment, how they slot together perfectly.</p><p>Dream looks peaceful, face smoothed into a blank expression by sleep, chest rising and falling steadily. His hair is flattened against one side of his face, cheek pressed against George’s forehead.</p><p>His stomach does somersaults and George smiles at him, but it’s a smile that borders on wistful. His fingers burn with the itch to touch his face, to brush the hair out of his eyes.</p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p>He lingers for one moment. Then he carefully untangles their legs and slips into his own bedroom.</p><p>⁂</p><p>“I fucking hate finals,” Dream grumbles on a weeknight in June. It’s barely ten yet but they’ve all been spending their time studying, have been for the past week. Sapnap and Karl left to go the library, trying to find more information about one of their shared classes. (“I think I’m just gonna end it all,” Sapnap had muttered as they walked out the door. “With what? A textbook?” Karl had replied, pulling him along by his arm, shaking his head.)</p><p>“You think that at one point I’d be able to memorize this, right?” George gets out, exasperated as he gestures at his notes.</p><p>“I think I’m going insane,” Dream says, hands in his hair. “If I have to read one more paragraph about circular linked lists, I’m going to <em>scream.”</em></p><p>George drops his head, sighing deeply and stretching his legs underneath the dining table. His head snaps up when Dream kicks against his shin, only to find him grinning broadly. George shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but kicks back just as hard.</p><p>“That’s it,” Dream states, slamming his textbook shut with a loud bang. “I’m done for tonight.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “Wait, it’s ten already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”</p><p>“Oh god.” George’s eyes grow wide. “I don’t think anyone got groceries today. And the store is already closed.”</p><p>Dream blinks at him for a few seconds before he jumps to his feet and walks to the fridge with an apprehensive expression. “Uhm…”</p><p>George throws his head back and whines. “Nooooo!” </p><p>“Oh, wait—” Dream glances over his shoulder. “Didn’t you once say pancakes were your favorite food?”</p><p>George’s brows knot together. “I don’t think I did.”</p><p>A grin splits on Dream’s face, and it robs George of air. He is breathtaking like this, soft and gentle and heart-wrenching.</p><p>“Oh well, it <em>is</em> mine, so… I guess I still win.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes as he gets up from his chair to take a seat at the kitchen table instead. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition.”</p><p>“Everything is a competition, George, dear.”</p><p>Dream balances milk, eggs and butter in his arms and nudges the fridge shut with his knee, carefully putting everything down on the counter.</p><p>George watches in silence, a careful smile on his face. His eyes trail Dream’s silhouette as he cracks a few eggs in a bowl, singing to himself, hair swaying as he bobs his chin along to the song stuck in his head.</p><p>“I think finals will be fine,” Dream speaks up when he flips the first pancake, breaking through the comfortable silence that has settled between them. “Especially for you. If there’s one person that’s going to ace their exams, it’s you.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” George says, but he can’t help the blush that rises high on his cheekbones.</p><p>Dream shrugs, throwing him a wide smile. “It’s the truth!”</p><p>“Sure it is.”</p><p>They stay up until one in the morning, talking about everything and nothing. Dream hooks their feet together and looks at George with a glaze in his eyes that George can’t quite decipher, but it doesn’t make him nervous, not anymore, not after seeing it countless times during their nights spent studying together.</p><p>They have pancakes for dinner, and George knows he’s falling, he’s crashing towards the unforgiving ground, faster and faster. He knows his heart won’t survive the impact, that it might shatter and break.</p><p>He wonders where along the way he stopped caring.</p><p>⁂</p><p>It’s on a random Thursday night that George stumbles out of his room at two in the morning to find Dream at the kitchen table, chin propped up on his hand, eyes fixated on the frozen screen of his laptop.</p><p>“Hey,” George greets him, “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I live here,” Dream replies dryly. Their gazes connect in the reflection of his laptop and Dream lets out a laugh. “No, just couldn’t sleep.”</p><p>“Oh, how the tables have turned?” George proposes. </p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>George sits down on the stool next to him, tilting his head. He looks… troubled, almost. Paler than usual, his hair hanging down to frame the sides of his face. “Everything okay?” He asks gently, resting his arms on the counter, half-turned to him.</p><p>Dream rubs his hands over his face. “Just… been thinking a lot.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>He stares at him, a long look that leaves George feeling vulnerable, naked. “Many things.” He drops his hand to let it rest on the counter.  </p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Dream’s fingers brush past George’s, and the touch sends sparks shooting down his spine.</p><p>“It’s not that important,” he says.</p><p>“It must be,” George pushes on, “if it’s got you upset like this.”</p><p>He’s quiet for a moment, then heaves a sigh. He leans over to let his head rest on George’s shoulder, back bent at a crooked angle because of his height, but it doesn’t matter when George presses his cheek atop Dream’s head.</p><p>Dream sighs again, hooking their hands together and playing absent-mindedly with George’s fingers. “Feelings are just complicated, you know?”</p><p>It takes a few seconds for George to register his words, but then he huffs out a laugh, though it lacks humor. “Trust me, I know.”</p><p>“I’m scared to say what I’m feeling,” Dream confesses quietly. “But I’m even more scared to lose this person. Isn’t that ridiculous?”</p><p>George chuckles, even as his heart splits right down the middle. “It kind of is.” He takes a beat. “Maybe you should just tell her, though. What do you have to lose?”</p><p>Dream’s head snaps up at that, a slight frown appearing between his brows as he glances down at him. George wants to smooth the crease with his thumb. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”</p><p>His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”</p><p>Dream shakes his head again, lifting his hand to brush a stray strand of hair from George’s eyes. His hand stills mid-air, and George might be imagining it but he swears that it’s trembling. “I said that you’re an idiot,”</p><p>and then he leans in and kisses him.</p><p>Their noses bump together softly and George’s brain short-circuits before it shuts down completely because, <em>oh—</em></p><p>Dream moves to pull back but George places a hand behind his neck and kisses him harder, his other hand curling around Dream’s hand that is still wavering in the air. He flattens it against his cheek, Dream's palm cool against his cheek, hot and flushed.</p><p>Only when his lungs are burning does he let go, but Dream presses their foreheads together gently. His hands cup George's jaw and he’s laughing, more to himself than anything. George can feel the breath fanning his face when Dream exhales a chuckle.</p><p>“You don’t even know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Dream murmurs, his voice hoarse.</p><p>George’s legs feel weak with the confession, with the tsunami of feelings that has welled inside him. He’s scared he’s going to wake up in his bed any second, to have this ripped from his hands, to feel tears of despair brimming his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling, to want so fiercely and get so scarcely.</p><p>“You don’t know how much better it feels than I imagined,” George whispers, a quiet confession in the empty space between them.</p><p>Dream just laughs and kisses him again, hands warm on his face, thumb rough as it brushes over his cheek.  </p><p>It’s a little surreal. It’s wholly overwhelming.</p><p>If George loves the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning, he thinks the reason why might be self-explanatory.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please leave a comment i'd really appreciate it !!</p><p>come find me on tumblr / twitter @sundaycore &lt;33</p></blockquote></div></div>
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